


The One Where There is a Happy Ending for Everyone. Really.

by aeskis



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Everyone except my twice-removed cousin's pet turtle. And no Shaw, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeskis/pseuds/aeskis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New stuff halfway down. Please review/kudo if you like this story!</p><p>Fun fixit fic! </p><p>Erik and Shaw’s old entourage return with Charles to help start the school. Things are tense at the mansion after the averted disaster at the beach. The kids decide something must be done.</p><p>"Fleece is never an option" -- made up by Hayley</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s full at the mansion—that is, full of equally miserable inhabitants. Erik and Charles speak to each only on official matters relating to the incoming students and setting up the school. Most alarmingly, the chess board remains in the same unfinished state it was in before the “near-divorce.”

After procuring Emma Frost’s release on condition that she embark upon that most underpaid, dull of careers, teaching—she had faltered at that and looked back at her cell with an almost wistful expression before acquiescing to the terms—the former Hellfire Club has settled at the mansion as well. Riptide and Azazeal wander about the house and grounds and empty the cabinet of liquor and the refrigerator of food, respectively.

Since Angel’s arrival, Sean and Alex have begun an open war consisting of embarrassing pranks just serious enough to remind her that she does not belong anymore after her deliberate decision to join Shaw. In the halls Beast and Mystique pass each other in tense silence.

Dinners are the worst. There is an unspoken, rigidly observed ritual: everyone comes to dinner in the enormous dining hall that has been unopened for decades, the days of the Xavier mansion entertaining large-scale parties being some time past. Recent events are not forgotten. The scrape of silverware and munching interrupt the otherwise perfect quiet. Charles and Erik each sit at the ends of the table, enduring the situation in stony disregard and never once looking directly at the other.

Youngsters Ororo, Scott, and Jean often bombard the long-suffering, ever kind adults with pleas to play, but even their lightheartedness cannot overcome the dismal atmosphere. 

“Mr. Xavier?” Ororo asks one day as she and the other two children play in Charles’ room.

“Yes, dear?” Charles replies somewhat distractedly as he peers at the legal document in front of him, several stacks more occupying his desk. 

Ororo nudges Jean, indicating that her turn has come. Jean frowns and pokes Scott, who predictably does what she wants. “Do you not like Mr. Lensherr?” Scott ventures.

Charles looks up, blinks, and carefully sets down his pen. “Why do you ask, Scott?”

Not having rehearsed this part, Scott begins to flounder.

Jean rushes to the rescue of her wounded and now prostrate knight. “Well, if Ororo and I fight and don’t talk to each other, you say we need to stop sulking and learn how to get over our differences.”

Charles opens his mouth to answer, closes it; his fingers seem to itch toward his temple, but he refrains. After a moment, he smiles ruefully. “Well, I’m sorry if we’ve given off the wrong impression, children. We’re all a family here and care about each other very much.”  
Jean, Ororo, and Scott gaze at him dubiously and wait for a more convincing answer. Charles wilts under the expectant looks. “How about we prove it?” he suggests, a little haltingly.

“Great!” the kids chorus. At their obvious cheer, Charles tries to subdue his mounting panic and manages a smile.

~~~~

That very night, Charles makes an announcement. He clears his throat. The sudden noise in the strained silence might as well have been a nuclear bomb dropped on an unsuspecting country. Everyone stares at him questioningly; soup dribbles down Sean’s chin. 

“Well, then. The children and I think this state of affairs has gone on long enough. I’m sure you all agree. Therefore, I suggest a change is in order.” He pauses to sweep the long dinner table and its occupants with a piercing eye.

Beast raises his hand. Dear Lord, he’s become so brave since he turned blue, Charles realizes with a sort of proud glumness. “What kind of changes, professor?”

“We shall break off into small groups and engage in enjoyable activities; members will be rotated every week until everyone gets along.”

An immediate patter of excitement and distaste for this partner or that sparks through the room. Angel mutters something under her breath about some idiot boys who don’t grow up. Alex snarls a response. Emma throws haughty looks at, well, everyone, but particularly Mystique and Beast, who are studiously avoiding each others’ eyes. Janos and Azazeal look dubious at this scheme, doubtless imagining themselves forced into games of tag and soccer. Erik continues to eat in measured bites, his blank expression giving away nothing. When Sean gets involved, the situation predictably turns to audible hell.

If you’ll be so kind! Charles’ mentally articulates with an admirable amount of calm. Everyone flinches, taken aback by this unavoidable voice of reason. “Now. You will become acquainted, intimately, with your immediate group members, who are to be determined by lot. Finally, we will have a party. By the end of this exercise I expect a full account of your progress.” He smiles brightly. “And you will make progress, or penalties will be called for.”

“Do you want us to take tests too, Professor?” Azazeal inquires, his Russian accent causing even jokes to sound about as funny as death. 

Before Charles can answer, Erik sets down his fork and says, “I hope that won’t be necessary. We are, after all, allegedly the mature adults in this house and soon to be instructors of a school for and leaders of the mutant cause.” The corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly. “In short, I think in this case Charles and I want the same thing.”

At this apparent reconciliation of the two men, the others settle down and resign themselves to the horror of socializing.  
Chapter 2

For all his support, Erik does not venture to make himself friendly as Charles smiles determinedly and Emma examines her perfect nails. 

After a few moments, Charles turns on the much-maligned groovy charm. “So, Miss Frost, how may Erik and I accommodate you today?”

Emma slants her eyes at them both and as though she has been waiting for this very offer, says positively. “Shopping.”

Erik’s eyebrows rise. “You have an entire bedroom for your wardrobe. That’s not to mention the walk-in closet.”

Expression turning frosty at this remark, Emma locks gazes with Erik. In alarm Charles interjects. “Oh no, Erik, it’s not for her. It’s … it’s …” he begins to look offended. “It’s for us,” he finishes.

“Indeed,” Emma shrugs her elegant shoulders. “You wear the clothes of a fifty-year old man. Erik’s clothing styles are out of date. An emergency shopping trip must be made. There’s no alternative to it.”

Erik rolls his eyes but with a long-suffering sigh, nods. Charles beams happily. That is before they embark on the quest for new clothes.

00000

Emma refuses to even glance at the first five respectable clothing shops Erik and Charles pass by. “They happen to be on the way,” she explains coolly. Erik presses his lips together in an obvious show of irritation. Charles starts to twitch in the backseat; Emma turns out to be quite the impatient driver, the very kind who honks at him on the freeway from behind, changes to the lane next to him, and then zooms by with a self-satisfied expression. Not that she doesn’t wear one all the time.

Finally, they enter a high-class shopping center, and mercifully Emma decides this place is passable. In comparison to the access she had before to the world’s very best products, her lingerie by itself no doubt costing in the thousands to show off her assets to their fullest potential, this place is pittance.

Wealthy as he is, Charles manages to keep his composure when he takes a casual peek at the prices, but Erik’s wooden mien is visibly shocked just a bit before he recovers. “I’m paying, darling,” Emma assures him with a sardonic smile. “This is my adventure day, after all.”

“Your pastimes are charming,” Erik informs her with a tight smile of his own. “And preposterously expensive.”

“Your appearance, um, gorgeous appearance is worth the expense,” Charles attempts, before realizing that he has just insulted the Frost Queen by suggesting that her beauty needs costly maintenance. Unfortunately, neither Erik nor Emma miss his faux pas. The corner of Erik’s mouth lifts ever so slightly.

“No,” Emma says with finality when Charles starts fiddling with a gray vest. Charles frowns mutinously, fingers still protectively clutching the fabric. “We came to dress you properly.”

“This is proper.”

“Sadly, yes. Don’t mention it again.”

They remain in the warm clothes section. Emma purses her glossed mouth, fingers tapping thoughtfully against her chin and directs her next question to Erik. “What about this woolen turtleneck?” 

Erik gives her a dour look. “Fleece is never an option.”

Emma sniffs. Charles is about to wander off when he catches sight of a brilliantly colored, heavily stylized shirt. “Is this what you want for me?” he asks brightly.

“God, no.” Emma covers her eyes, tramatized. “Darling, just stop. We’ll fix you ... somehow.”

By the time they finish, Charles and Erik have cautiously united in mutual aggravation, but Emma shrugs off the hostility. She has what she wants: them outfitted in attractive clothing and much less of an eyesore to her exacting desires in naturally handsome men.

A clearly exhausted Charles ends the day with an amiable smile as he says, “Emma, I give you the right to dress my dead body before the viewing. Other than that, never again.”

Erik snorts in amusement. Charles looks over at him with a slight grin. Emma smiles smugly and checks her flawless eyebrows in the front car mirror.

00000

PREVIEW

That day Angel, Azazeal, Sean, and Alex are put together. The red-skinned Russian begins to suspect that the so-called random lots were tampered with, and that he is a very unfortunate man to be placed between the three feuding parties. The incongruous group head off to a bar, Sean’s choice. There they come across a thickly muscled man with sideburns who grunts in response as they slide into seats next to him.

“Hey, dude,” Sean greets the stranger. “Do ya’know the best drinks here?”

“Hell’s that way,” the man replies eloquently as he points to the men’s bathroom. “Have fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLACEHOLDER. Sorry!

Updates a little more than half-way down. Please review if you like this story!

 

\--

 

Fun fixit fic!

 

Erik and Shaw’s old entourage return with Charles to help start the school. Things are tense at the mansion after the averted disaster at the beach. The kids decide something must be done.

 

~~~~

 

It’s full at the mansion—that is, full of equally miserable inhabitants. Erik and Charles speak to each only on official matters relating to the incoming students and setting up the school. Most alarmingly, the chess board remains in the same unfinished state it was in before the “near-divorce.”

 

After procuring Emma Frost’s release on condition that she embark upon that most underpaid, dull of careers, teaching—she had faltered at that and looked back at her cell with an almost wistful expression before acquiescing to the terms—the former Hellfire Club has settled at the mansion as well. Riptide and Azazeal wander about the house and grounds and empty the cabinet of liquor and the refrigerator of food, respectively.

 

Since Angel’s arrival, Sean and Alex have begun an open war consisting of embarrassing pranks just serious enough to remind her that she does not belong anymore after her deliberate decision to join Shaw. In the halls Beast and Mystique pass each other in tense silence.

 

Dinners are the worst. There is an unspoken, rigidly observed ritual: everyone comes to dinner in the enormous dining hall that has been unopened for decades, the days of the Xavier mansion entertaining large-scale parties being some time past. Recent events are not forgotten. The scrape of silverware and munching interrupt the otherwise perfect quiet. Charles and Erik each sit at the ends of the table, enduring the situation in stony disregard and never once looking directly at the other.

 

Youngsters Ororo, Scott, and Jean often bombard the long-suffering, ever kind adults with pleas to play, but even their lightheartedness cannot overcome the dismal atmosphere.

 

“Mr. Xavier?” Ororo asks one day as she and the other two children play in Charles’ room.

 

“Yes, dear?” Charles replies somewhat distractedly as he peers at the legal document in front of him, several stacks more occupying his desk.

 

Ororo nudges Jean, indicating that her turn has come. Jean frowns and pokes Scott, who predictably does what she wants. “Do you not like Mr. Lensherr?” Scott ventures.

 

Charles looks up, blinks, and carefully sets down his pen. “Why do you ask, Scott?”

 

Not having rehearsed this part, Scott begins to flounder.

 

Jean rushes to the rescue of her wounded and now prostrate knight. “Well, if Ororo and I fight and don’t talk to each other, you say we need to stop sulking and learn how to get over our differences.”

 

Charles opens his mouth to answer, closes it; his fingers seem to itch toward his temple, but he refrains. After a moment, he smiles ruefully. “Well, I’m sorry if we’ve given off the wrong impression, children. We’re all a family here and care about each other very much.”

Jean, Ororo, and Scott gaze at him dubiously and wait for a more convincing answer. Charles wilts under the expectant looks. “How about we prove it?” he suggests, a little haltingly.

 

“Great!” the kids chorus. At their obvious cheer, Charles tries to subdue his mounting panic and manages a smile.

 

~~~~

 

That very night, Charles makes an announcement. He clears his throat. The sudden noise in the strained silence might as well have been a nuclear bomb dropped on an unsuspecting country. Everyone stares at him questioningly; soup dribbles down Sean’s chin.

 

“Well, then. The children and I think this state of affairs has gone on long enough. I’m sure you all agree. Therefore, I suggest a change is in order.” He pauses to sweep the long dinner table and its occupants with a piercing eye.

 

Beast raises his hand. _Dear Lord, he’s become so brave since he turned blue_ , Charles realizes with a sort of proud glumness. “What kind of changes, professor?”

 

“We shall break off into small groups and engage in enjoyable activities; members will be rotated every week until everyone gets along.”

 

An immediate patter of excitement and distaste for this partner or that sparks through the room. Angel mutters something under her breath about some idiot boys who don’t grow up. Alex snarls a response. Emma throws haughty looks at, well, everyone, but particularly Mystique and Beast, who are studiously avoiding each others’ eyes. Janos and Azazeal look dubious at this scheme, doubtless imagining themselves forced into games of tag and soccer. Erik continues to eat in measured bites, his blank expression giving away nothing. When Sean gets involved, the situation predictably turns to audible hell.

_If you’ll be so kind!_ Charles’ mentally articulates with an admirable amount of calm. Everyone flinches, taken aback by this unavoidable voice of reason. “Now. You will become acquainted, intimately, with your immediate group members, who are to be determined by lot. Finally, we will have a party. By the end of this exercise I expect a full account of your progress.” He smiles brightly. “And you _will_ make progress, or penalties will be called for.”

 

“Do you want us to take tests too, Professor?” Azazeal inquires, his Russian accent causing even jokes to sound about as funny as death.

 

Before Charles can answer, Erik sets down his fork and says, “I hope that won’t be necessary. We are, after all, allegedly the mature adults in this house and soon to be instructors of a school for and leaders of the mutant cause.” The corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly. “In short, I think in this case Charles and I want the same thing.”

 

At this apparent reconciliation of the two men, the others settle down and resign themselves to the horror of socializing.

Chapter 2

 

For all his support, Erik does not venture to make himself friendly as Charles smiles determinedly and Emma examines her perfect nails.

 

After a few moments, Charles turns on the much-maligned groovy charm. “So, Miss Frost, how may Erik and I accommodate you today?”

 

Emma slants her eyes at them both and as though she has been waiting for this very offer, says positively. “Shopping.”

 

Erik’s eyebrows rise. “You have an entire bedroom for your wardrobe. That’s not to mention the walk-in closet.”

 

Expression turning frosty at this remark, Emma locks gazes with Erik. In alarm Charles interjects. “Oh no, Erik, it’s not for her. It’s … it’s …” he begins to look offended. “It’s for us,” he finishes.

 

“Indeed,” Emma shrugs her elegant shoulders. “You wear the clothes of a fifty-year old man. Erik’s clothing styles are out of date. An emergency shopping trip must be made. There’s no alternative to it.”

 

Erik rolls his eyes but with a long-suffering sigh, nods. Charles beams happily. That is before they embark on the quest for new clothes.

 

00000

 

Emma refuses to even glance at the first five respectable clothing shops Erik and Charles pass by. “They happen to be on the way,” she explains coolly. Erik presses his lips together in an obvious show of irritation. Charles starts to twitch in the backseat; Emma turns out to be quite the impatient driver, the very kind who honks at him on the freeway from behind, changes to the lane next to him, and then zooms by with a self-satisfied expression. Not that she doesn’t wear one all the time.

 

Finally, they enter a high-class shopping center, and mercifully Emma decides this place is passable. In comparison to the access she had before to the world’s very best products, her lingerie by itself no doubt costing in the thousands to show off her assets to their fullest potential, this place is pittance.

 

Wealthy as he is, Charles manages to keep his composure when he takes a casual peek at the prices, but Erik’s wooden mien is visibly shocked just a bit before he recovers. “I’m paying, darling,” Emma assures him with a sardonic smile. “This is my adventure day, after all.”

 

“Your pastimes are charming,” Erik informs her with a tight smile of his own. “And preposterously expensive.”

 

“Your appearance, um, gorgeous appearance is worth the expense,” Charles attempts, before realizing that he has just insulted the Frost Queen by suggesting that her beauty needs costly maintenance. Unfortunately, neither Erik nor Emma miss his faux pas. The corner of Erik’s mouth lifts ever so slightly.

 

“No,” Emma says with finality when Charles starts fiddling with a gray vest. Charles frowns mutinously, fingers still protectively clutching the fabric. “We came to dress you properly.”

 

“This _is_ proper.”

 

“Sadly, yes. Don’t mention it again.”

 

They remain in the warm clothes section. Emma purses her glossed mouth, fingers tapping thoughtfully against her chin and directs her next question to Erik. “What about this woolen turtleneck?”

 

Erik gives her a dour look. “Fleece is never an option.”

 

Emma sniffs. Charles is about to wander off when he catches sight of a brilliantly colored, heavily stylized shirt. “Is this what you want for me?” he asks brightly.

 

“God, no.” Emma covers her eyes, tramatized. “Darling, just stop. We’ll fix you ... somehow.”

 

By the time they finish, Charles and Erik have cautiously united in mutual aggravation, but Emma shrugs off the hostility. She has what she wants: them outfitted in attractive clothing and much less of an eyesore to her exacting desires in naturally handsome men.

 

A clearly exhausted Charles ends the day with an amiable smile as he says, “Emma, I give you the right to dress my dead body before the viewing. Other than that, never again.”

 

Erik snorts in amusement. Charles looks over at him with a slight grin. Emma smiles smugly and checks her flawless eyebrows in the front car mirror.

 

00000

 

PREVIEW

 

That day Angel, Azazeal, Sean, and Alex are put together. The red-skinned Russian begins to suspect that the so-called random lots were tampered with, and that he is a very unfortunate man to be placed between the three feuding parties. The incongruous group head off to a bar, Sean’s choice. There they come across a thickly muscled man with sideburns who grunts in response as they slide into seats next to him.

 

“Hey, dude,” Sean greets the stranger. “Do ya’know the best drinks here?”

 

“Hell’s that way,” the man replies eloquently as he points to the men’s bathroom. “Have fun.”

 

 


End file.
